


left wide open

by earlymorningechoes



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3422303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlymorningechoes/pseuds/earlymorningechoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she can't sleep at night, Roxy talks to Calliope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	left wide open

     You’re staying at Jane’s house tonight, on LOCAH, because she didn’t want to be alone but wanted to be in a familiar place. You don’t remember if she had two beds in her room before the game, but she apparently does now, and you’re glad because you’d thought you’d be sleeping on the floor or something and you were not about that.

     She’s already fallen asleep, her breathing low and even in the silent darkness. You’re glad of that, because she never seems calm during the day, only anxious and frustrated, and the boys are too wrapped up in their own lives and you’re too busy trying to cheer everyone up to actually ask why she’s upset.

     Maybe you should.

     Sighing heavily, you wonder why you’ve had so much trouble sleeping since the game started. That never used to happen. Rolling onto your side, you stare up at Jane’s bedroom window, which you can just barely make out. A twinkle of light shines faintly outside, probably from that tower with the lanterns on it.

     You pretend it’s the firefly that led you to Calliope, once.

     “Hey, Callie,” you whisper, then realize that if you talk out loud you’ll probably wake Jane. _Long time no see_ , you think, laughing internally at the clichéd phrase that you’re not sure you’ve ever used before.

     You pretend you hear a familiar chuckle. (You pretend you’ve ever actually heard her chuckle.)

     “Hello, Roxy,” says the voice in your head, somehow British and somehow cuter than any voice you’ve actually heard out loud and not just in your dreams and your own head. Closing your eyes, you picture her troll cosplay, white wig and grey skin stark against her green clothes. She’s a color-block person, sometimes, white and grey and orange and green. You giggle out loud at the thought, then quickly shush yourself and refocus on your imaginary conversation.

     _I miss you_ , you think, which is both true and not true, because you don’t think you’ve ever missed anyone before? And you aren’t quite sure what it feels like. But you assume that it would feel like this emptiness in your chest, or maybe the pit of your stomach, where the things you want to tell her fall and ring hollow when you realize that uranianUmbra is a screen name you’ll never see again.

     Did you even get to tell her you’d stopped drinking?

     “I miss you too, Roxy,” says the voice in your head, repeating your name in a way that sends tingles down your spine. Not even imaginary tingles. You close your eyes, wondering if you’ll dream of her again: following Twinkly Herbert out of the house and down that yellow spiraling path out in the void of space. (You giggle out loud again at the phrase “void of space,” and then you miss her even more because she would have either giggled with you or smiled at your silliness.)

     Jane rolls over suddenly, her sheets rustling in the quiet of the night and snapping you out of your thoughts. You look across the room at her face, appearing scrunched up in concentration even in her sleep – she doesn’t talk about her dreams, but you hope she isn’t meeting Calliope’s brother or some shouty troll in the bubbles.

     _I wish you were here_ , you think, wanting someone to talk to about your drinking and Jane’s anxiety and how obnoxious Jake and Dirk are being and how scared you are. You’ve never been this scared before.

     Pulling yourself into a sitting position, your bony elbows and skinny knees jutting out at funny angles as you wrap your arms around your bent legs, you stare again outside the window. You don’t believe in wishes, those are for stories and little chessboard children, but you can’t help but wish that the light was a firefly, and that the firefly was Calliope, and that you could talk to her for real.

     There aren’t even any stars to pretend are fireflies anymore, or to wish more pointless wishes on. At this point, you just want the game to be over.

     _Where are you, Calliope?_ you think at her, and your brain has no answer.


End file.
